


One Over the Other

by penguinparity



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-28
Updated: 2010-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinparity/pseuds/penguinparity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://sharksdontsleep.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://sharksdontsleep.livejournal.com/"><strong>sharksdontsleep</strong></a> because she said she'd never been inside a Cracker Barrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Over the Other

Ray doesn't know how they end up at Cracker Barrel; he had proclaimed his disgust when Walt suggested it. But Walt had done that thing where his slight smile had more effectively rebuked Ray than any yelling ever could. After he'd found out that Ray had never tried their biscuits and gravy, he was determined to change that.

There's a twenty-minute wait when they get there, the young woman in the red-checkered shirt and daisy dukes informs them.

"Are you kidding me? There are actually enough whiskey tango fucks willing to eat here to cause a wait?" Ray hisses as they wander back out into the sweltering summer heat to wait on the porch.

"Language, Ray," Walt scolds. They flop down into two of the rocking chairs, away from the other patrons.

"I can't believe you like this crap, Walt. I know you weren't raised quite right out in rural Virginia, but I had more faith in your culinary palate." Ray bats at an errant fly.

"Don't talk about my momma like that," Walt replies placidly. He's using one of store's magazines to fan his face. "We used to come here for Sunday dinner sometimes, when I'd been good."

"This was a _reward_?" Ray's tone and raised eyebrows telegraph his opinion of that quite clearly.

"I thought you liked my cooking, homes." Ray flicks his sunglasses down off his forehead and glares out at the parking lot.

"Stop sulking, it's not nearly as cute as you think it is."

"Did you just call me cute?"

  
After they get seated and place their orders, Ray drums his fingers impatiently on the table and looks around the restaurant. The place is covered in kitschy decorations of all sorts. Ray supposes they're supposed to look old-timey and country, but they just look silly and over the top to him.

He blinks in surprise when Walt pushes a triangular block of wood filled with painted golf tees in front of him.

"What are these for?" Ray asks, pulling some of the blue and yellow tees out suspiciously. "Placed here for my convenience, should I need to stab my own eyes out?"

Walt laughs.

"Nah, it's a game. See how there's one more hole than stick? You remove each piece by hopping over it with another one, like in checkers. That's the only way you can move them. The goal is to get all but one of 'em."

"And you thought to distract me with this?" Ray scoffs. "If I beat this within a minute, you have to do anything I say, deal?" Ray momentarily questions his bravado when Walt smirks.

"I'll give you five. If you can't, you have to follow one order from me."

He goes through the pieces quickly, ending up with two pieces left at opposite corners of the triangle and a third stranded in the middle. By Ray's fourth try he's managed to get down to two pieces that always end up one space too far apart.

"We should give this game to POWs, tell them we'll let them go if they can solve it. They'll go crazy and confess everything in no time," Ray mutters.

"And that's six minutes," Walt announces. He laughs before taking the game back and reassembling it.

"It's not that hard, watch," Walt instructs. In a series of quick, deft movements, he removes the pieces until a single one is remaining. Ray glares at him.

"You're probably a secret chess genius too, aren't you? Fuck, you're going to order me to come with you to this place all the time. You're one sick bastard, Hasser."

"I'm not the one who knows all the words to _Cabaret_," Walt points out.

Their food arrives before Ray can properly retort, so he settles for silent retaliation instead. Slipping his foot out of his flip flop, Ray slides it up the bare skin of Walt's leg, past the edge of his shorts and up towards his thigh.

Walt smiles sweetly at the waitress, thanking her for their food. The second she's gone his hand is digging into the arch of Ray's foot, stopping its progress. Ray presses his forward a little more and is rewarded when Walt bites his lip before shoving Ray's foot back to the floor.

"Eat your food, Ray," Walt orders. Ray complies, but leaves his foot resting against the inside of Walt's ankle.

The thing is, his food is delicious. The biscuits and gravy aren't as good as his momma makes, but she lives over 200 miles away so they're damn good in her absence. The buttermilk biscuits are fluffy and buttery; the white sausage gravy is savory and absolutely delicious.

Ray is almost halfway through his plate before he notices Walt grinning at him.

"What?" Ray asks defensively.

"I knew you'd like it." Walt's leg moves into the curve of Ray's foot slightly as he smiles.

"Yeah, ok," Ray concedes distractedly as he runs his foot back up Walt's leg slowly. "This gravy is pretty fucking bomb, but this place is filled with old people, homes."

"Don't worry, gotta plan," Walt assures him as he pushes Ray's foot down back below his knee again.

When they finish Walt leads Ray out into the store part of the Cracker Barrel. Ray makes a production of picking up some of the more ridiculous items he finds, causing some of the other patrons to eye them curiously. Finally Walt drags him over to the food section and shows Ray his plan.

"They sell their white sausage gravy in a pre-made mix?" Ray asks incredulously as he stares at the package.

"Yep," Walt replies, grinning. "So, I order you to make me biscuits and gravy at home."

"That's sad, Hasser. You get one over me, an opportunity to tie me, do something filthy to me, and _that's_ what you ask for?"

"I didn't say you were going to be wearing clothes, did I?"


End file.
